Breath
by HisLovelyCurls
Summary: Sherlock has returned and is having difficulty coping with the marriage of his friend. It can't possibly be so difficult. After all, sentiment is only a chemical defect, and hasn't he taken such care to prevent such? Johnlock
1. May 18th

**May 18**

_Breath._

_Like always._

_As you have always done._

_All your life._

_Ready?_

_Inhale._

_..._

_Exhale._

The pain. It isn't real. The way it claws at my heart; it isn't there. Doesn't exist. Only in my head. It can't exist. I have never known pain like this. True, constant, internal pain. The dark curls between my fingers is real, as I reach up and run them through the mass. The floor beneath my feet is real. It is not crumbling, nor opening up to swallow me whole, and banish me somewhere which I will really be alone. The emptiness, that was real too. In the space, there was only me. But the emptiness, it was not mutating, not shifting into a physical form that was pressuring me, or stabbing into me, driving a sharpened knife straight through my chest and into my heart whenever the thought violated and rattled my already ruined mind.

It wasn't loneliness. I didn't get lonely, surely. But at the same time, emptiness had never betrayed me before. Not until absence had joined with it.

All was calm. All but myself.

_You can do it._

_You always have._

_Inhale._

_..._

_Exhale. _

_..._

_Breath._

The absence. Oh, the absence. I could feel it again. The sharpened knife. The rusted spear. Protruding through me, yet invisible. Cold, and painful. Sharp, and yet, dull. He isn't there anymore, and I needed to get that through my thick skull before it cracked open or turned on me and drove me to pure insanity. When the voice of him took over. He no longer will be there. Not for me. I am nothing to him now. I can be forgotton. I was but an obstacle in his path towards domestic bliss. I have been replaced. The silver band around his ring finger dictates so, ties him to someone else, displays how he belongs to her, and how she belongs to him. How they are each other's.

A rattled, choking breath. The tremor of limbs. The cold damp on my cheeks I have lost control over.

Never before had the walls around me appeared so green, and vicious. never before had they so appropriately reflected the inner turmoil which I wouldn't dare express myself. They loom over me, and I am devoured, dragged in, filled to the brim. But, I will never give in to their will. I will not listen to their deadly voices.

_You won't._

_You can't._

_It isn't real._

_it's not there._

_Listen to me._

_**Breath.**_

I sit, as my knees can no longer support my weight. The sofa underneath my backside is _real_. I can feel my hands run over it, the leather. It is cold, and unused. The thumping of my heart is _real_. It is beating rhythmically, sending blood throughout my body, and with it, life. It is lonesome. The fabric of my shirt is _real_. It is smooth, silk, comfortable. It wants for the strain along the lines of buttons to be diminished, for it to be carefully slid away and tossed onto the floor, classified as useless until morning.

I can feel it as I grip over the spot where I can feel my heart, my blood supplier, the thing keeping me alive, ache mournfully.

The aching is not _real_. The stabbing knife is not _real_. The absence is not _real_. None of it. It couldn't be. The wish to be held; straddled; kissed; never let go again - It was not _**real**_. I did not miss him. It did not bother me. I was better alone. I was always better alone. I did not care. These were not things which I yearned for, really wanted, really desired. I never had before, for anybody, and I did not wish for it to start.

It was weakness. It wasn't real. Perhaps if I told this to myself enough, it would be true. At this point, I could only hope as much. This ran through my mind bluntly as I laid myself down, exhausted by today's session.

_Sleep._

_You're tired._

_I care, you know. _

_You can't keep doing this to yourself._

_Breath._

_But, if that's true,_

_why can't you breath without it hurting?_


	2. May 19th

May 19

_Come on._

_Again._

_Like routine._

_Are you ready?_

_Inhale_

…

_Exhale._

_Just breath. _

_**Í̘̭͔̹͍ͤ̓͂ͯͭͦ͝ ̭͙͍̭̤̠̾̀̄ḑ̗̲ȏ̯͚ͮn͊̏̋͐̃͡'̦̙͔̜͎̑͒̊̋͆̒ẗ̲͈́ͯͨ̎ ̳̠͍̞͓̥̭̂̇n̘̂͊͂ͣē̙̘̖͉͎͈̩ͥ͡e̻̾̈́d̢ ̵̥̬̖̗̙͎̭̐͑͌̆ͨ͐͌y̡̳̳͙̌o̤͖̳͔͔͇̊͐u͈̮ͭ.̭͉̱ͮ̓̏̍̔̏͛**_

The afternoons are empty. The evenings are hellish. The nights are lonesome. The only time I feel anywhere close to 'happy', or, at the very least, better than my current condition, is in the mornings, when I have only just woke up. The split second before I have assumed full consciousness, and believe everything is normal.

_I have fallen asleep again. My last case must have taken every last drop of energy which my body was willing to give. I am on the sofa, where the material is warm, and so am I, my heart swelling with an unknown, foreign feeling as I register the blanket keeping me cozy from the chill of the rest of the flat. John. The name drifts into my mind as I slide the fabric through my fingers. He is not in the room with me, so I allow a smile to settle upon my lips. I feel cared for. I feel important. I feel mattered, and appreciated. And with this thought, I fall back asleep._

_ And when I wake again, I am not surprised to find my blond friend standing at the side of the soda, looking down at me with two mugs of steaming tea in his hands._

_Nothing will take him from me._

Or, at least, up until my memory kicks in, and I am crushed. I remember that he is gone. That he won't be returning to me; that he no longer cares; and that it has gone to the point where I refuse to even think of his name for fear that the rusted spear will beat me, over and over, until I'm begging for release, for something to make it stop, and that the rust will remain, leading to an infection which will settle deep in my heart, and eat away even more of it.

I am certain. Were there some sort of image displaying how it was that my heart felt, it would be ugly, twisted, and sickly.

I am drowsy, so I allow myself to think that this is real. That it isn't my imagination. For the hour in which I am hurting. I think of how he deserved a better heart than mine, anyways. He needed one which could hold all of the love in the world purely for him. Only for him. Someone who showed this, too.

The glaring of the sun interrupts my thoughts. It was probably what woke me, too. It is glaring at me, scrutinizing me, judging me silently, and harshly. It's light is hateful in my eyes. No longer the loving or concerned light which it once was, or the light I never took the time to appreciate. The sun doesn't care about how I am feeling. Not anymore. It thinks I am a freak too. Realizes it's mistake in providing it's gentle glow before.

Please don't shut me out.

I do care.

Just listen to me.

Close your eyes.

…

Breath.

A deep breath in, a long sigh out. My palm rubs my face tiredly as I attempt to block out the infiltrating voice. It shows I am weak. Not to anyone surrounding, but to myself, and to the voice inside my head. My eyes begin to drift, running along the flat that has never solely belonged to me. It isn't the same. It has become messier, as I have cared for it less. It has become dull, and dusty, the sunlight shining through the window making the particles drifting about more prominent. My landlady has told me that keeping it in this state is unhealthy, but I won't clean it, and I won't let her. I need the effect. It dampens the fact that the space in which the red chair across from my own black one would normally take up is vacant.

The green hue which I had observed the night before has softened, as it always does in the morning. But it is still there. It never leaves, it never will.

I risk another look back at the light of the sun. It is filling the room with it's incessant brightness, filling the window, appearing to be mocking me with it's warmth and joy. My eyes narrow angrily. The sun was never loving. It never cared about me. Not really. Whether it realized this or not. I was a drug for it to use. I was the substance it had required in order to receive the rush it so craved. My relationship with the sun, I realize, is it's relationship with the moon. Without the sun there, keeping the earth in orbit, shining it's light, there would be no moon. However, without the moon, the sun would continue to shine on happily.

Certainly the moon was required to keep the Earth functioning, and vice versa, but the sun didn't need this. The Earth was just a plaything. It was it's rush. A good representation, anyways.

I was just a bonus. Just something to keep it's plaything in working order. I was it's moon. And it abandoned me. Left me to become nothing.

My cheeks were dampening again, something that started as soon as the Solar System worked it's way into my mind. I thought He would be impressed. That He would be happy that I took time out of my life to learn something so boring, that made no difference to me. And now the knowledge ended up being worthless.

I wouldn't be it's moon any longer. Not by choice. I stand and stride towards the window where I am bathed in hot, hostile light. When I am close enough, I open the window and let out a stream of broken profanity. He has done this to me. My sun, he has flung me into darkness and chaos.

I am shattering, yet the sun continues to shine on me, unaffected by my pain. By my broken bits and pieces.

With a snort, I snap the window shut, and draw the curtains to be sure that no curious pedestrians look up in their curiosity and look upon me. It would ruin the reputation I had settled for myself, that I needed for cases, and I don't want anybody to see me like this. But, also so that the sun may no longer be pained by the evidence of my existence. I am not so cruel. The sun could think of me as dead for all I cared.

And, with the sudden elimination of the sun, I am plunged into darkness, and shadows. The light had before occupied the vacant space, but now, it is empty. Completely. And it always will be. With the combination of my tired vulnerability, and the sudden, pressing emptiness and lonesomeness, there are tears streaking down my face, and I lean against the wall to slide down, ending up curling on the floor. I am alone again. But, I was always alone. The only problem was that for once in my life, I did not want to be.

_Hey._

_It's alright._

_Calm down._

_Please?_

_Close your eyes._

_Deep breath._

_Breath._

Though I struggle, I do not refuse.


End file.
